


Ich Kenn’ Nur Deine Stimme

by Aurea_Aetas



Category: Die Ärzte
Genre: (It's not but Farin thinks so), 1980s, A Brief Mention of Sahnie Sorry, Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Possibly Unrequited Love, Roommates, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurea_Aetas/pseuds/Aurea_Aetas
Summary: The walls were so thin, and Bela was so loud.
Relationships: Bela B/Farin Urlaub
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Ich Kenn’ Nur Deine Stimme

Sharing an apartment made sense. Money was hard to come by as a musician, and Berlin wasn’t cheap. Who better to share that burden with than your best friend, your bandmate? 

Their apartment was part of an already run-down building in the heart of the city. It was too small for one person, let alone two, and even then rent was still astronomical. They barely made enough to get by, but they still managed to make their apartment feel like home. Posters covered the nicotine-stained walls as thick as wallpaper, records and tapes filled their living room on shelves they assembled together, comic books littered every other available surface. It was chaos, but the kind of chaos they both flourished in.

There was just one thing, and Farin wasn’t sure if it was a positive or a negative: The walls were so thin, and Bela was so loud—unashamedly so. 

It was easy enough to ignore during the day, and in fact Farin found himself joining in the cacophony more often than not. He would pick up his guitar and strum along to a beat Bela was drumming against his practice pad, join him in shouting the lyrics to whatever album they had on, and of course there was their game of blasting the worst music possible while the other was in the bathroom. If anything, the noise served to distract them from the state of their apartment. 

Bela’s noise was more difficult to deal with during the night.

Though Farin liked attending the occasional party, he was never one for the hardcore rocker lifestyle that Bela preferred to lead. He would stay at home while Bela went out, enjoying his books and tea as Bela enjoyed his drugs and whiskey. It wasn’t every night—Not even the legendary Bela B. could keep that up—but he enjoyed the silence while it lasted regardless. It never lasted long, though.

The end came like clockwork: Farin would wake around 3 or 4 AM to Bela fumbling at the front door, loudly cussing out his numb fingers or accusing the keys of being faulty. Then he would come trodding into the apartment without bothering to remove his heavy boots that clunked against the floor, the sound even louder to Farin, whose mattress sat directly on said floor. He was rarely alone when he returned, so Farin had to deal with even more footsteps, sounding more like a stampede than anything else.

 _“My roommate is asleep, be careful!”_ was a common warning, and it was just as commonly ignored.

Most times Farin could just turn on his walkman and drown out the noise, hopefully catching a few more hours of sleep before the sun started to peek through too-thin curtains. He’d lost track of how many times he’d been lulled back into unconsciousness by Johnny Rotten since they’d moved in. 

He wanted to hate Bela in those moments, he really did, but he couldn’t find it within himself. Bela had managed to worm his way into his heart since that first night at the Ballhaus Spandau. He had his suspicions before they moved in together, but now it was unavoidable. He was in love with his drummer, but he wasn’t stupid enough to risk everything they had by admitting it. Things were already tense enough in the band without him getting emotions involved. He didn’t need both Sahnie _and_ Bela against him, they wouldn’t survive.

So, he carried on like they always had.

* * *

That night was no different than any other. The blaring red numbers on Farin’s alarm clock read 4:47 AM as the front door slammed open across the apartment. At first he only heard the clunk of Bela’s boots. Strange, but not unheard of. Even a chronic extrovert like Bela couldn’t gather crowds _every_ night. The nights where Bela came home alone were usually the easiest. At least one noisy drunk was quieter than ten noisy drunks.

Those hopes were dashed as soon as the door closed, a distinctly un-Bela-like giggle following it.

It wasn’t unusual for Bela to bring his conquests home with him, but it was getting harder for Farin to bear each time. He could drown out the sound completely, but he still knew that Bela was next door with a stranger. He still knew that Bela didn’t return his feelings.

Farin retrieved his walkman from where it lay on the ground by his bed, putting his headphones on in a rush of indignation as Bela and his anonymous fling made their way past his door. He caught a muffled snippet of Bela’s promises to the girl, and he preemptively pushed the volume dials to their peak.

Surely the new KISS tape that Bela himself had gifted him (another attempt at getting him to like the band Bela so adored) would be enough to take his mind off them.

He pressed play. Nothing. Stop. He pressed play again. The batteries were dead. And, like an idiot, he’d forgotten to buy more when he was at the store earlier that day. Now he was alone in his room with nothing to distract him, with no other choice but to listen.

It wasn’t the first time Farin had heard Bela’s more intimate moments. He had crossed that bridge long ago.

At first it had just been due to their circumstances. Bela had gotten comfortable with the latest issue of Hustler during their first night in the apartment, and Farin hadn’t quite figured out the best way to drown him out. Then he started to well and truly listen, taking the opportunity he knew he would never get to experience firsthand. At first he would _only_ listen, but that quickly devolved. He always felt guilty about it afterwards, but in the moment he couldn’t care less. 

Farin pressed his ear against the wall separating him from Bela, straining to hear. 

The cheap bed frame creaked, and there was that damn giggle again, cut off into a moan as Bela did who knows what to her. She wasn’t about to make this easy for him, but then again it was never about him in the first place. 

For a while it was only her, and Farin debated just giving up and trying to go back to sleep, walkman or not. No sooner did he make that decision did Bela pick back up again, a low sound that practically echoed in Farin’s eardrums despite the inches of plaster between them. It was as if he somehow knew he was losing him. 

It wasn’t like pornography. It wasn’t a purposeful exaggeration of pleasure. In fact, Farin could see how the sounds would be grating to the untrained ear, as the faint nasality of Bela’s voice came through. However clichéd as it was, though, Farin instead found that there was a sort of musicality to his moans. They rose in pitch gradually, following the rhythm he set with each thrust, punctuated by the slam of his headboard against the wall.

Farin’s hands had started out at his sides, but had slowly their way up his body as he listened. He caressed himself as he wanted to be caressed: Long and slender fingers (so unlike Bela’s own) made their way down his throat and to his chest, grazing a nipple in their descent and making him shiver.

Before he even realized it, he had a hand in his pajama pants, pulling his cock out into the pitch blackness of his bedroom. He began to stroke himself languidly, more focused on his fantasy than getting off.

He imagined himself on the other side of the wall, getting to be the one to make Bela make those noises. Behind closed eyes he could see Bela’s face screwed in pleasure, could see his lips parted as moans spilled freely and unashamedly from between them. 

He imagined himself above Bela, behind him, beneath him—imagined himself taking Bela apart in every way possible. Would Bela take the lead, like he was tonight? Or would he let him do as he pleased to him?

He could almost hear his name on Bela’s lips, begging for him. 

He always came embarrassingly fast when he did this, and it always caught him off guard. He couldn’t hold himself back when Bela was so tantalizingly close. He bit his knuckle in a futile attempt at muffling himself as he stroked himself through the aftershocks, gripping his cock almost too tightly. A shuddering moan still managed to erupt from his throat, but he could hardly hear it over the noise of Bela’s partner. It pulled him sharply out of his fantasy, back to the reality where he was alone in his bed. 

He lay there for several long minutes, unable to tune out the noise from next door. He heard Bela’s cries reach their peak as he came—hoarse, staccato shouts—but could find no pleasure in them.

He wiped his hand off on his sheet, making a mental note to go to the laundromat in the morning. 

Laundry. Batteries.

Farin fell asleep, and dreamt of waking next to Bela.

* * *

Out of everything, mornings were always the quietest. The world woke slowly: birds sang, the hum of traffic began, and Farin made himself breakfast. 

He was always something of a morning person. He could find no point in sleeping in, even if a concert kept them out well past midnight. He always got more done in those few morning hours than most did during their whole day. On that particular morning, he had accomplished what he had promised himself the night before: he had full batteries for his walkman, clean sheets, and an almost-clean conscience.

As always, Bela was the last in all of Berlin to wake up, long after the rest of the world had gone about their day. By then Farin had moved to the living room and was sitting on the couch scrawling out ideas for a new song in an old, well-worn notebook.

They came out together, Bela and the girl, and Farin finally caught a glimpse of her. She was everything he anticipated from Bela’s type: Goth, petite, the only difference between her and Bela himself being a set of breasts and slightly more makeup. She didn’t even regard Farin as she walked past, caught up in sharing her goodbyes with Bela.

Farin felt his stomach roll with each sickly-sweet _tschüss!_ the girl exclaimed as she left, standing in their doorway far longer than necessary. There was a flirtatious undertone to her farewell, one that told Farin that she wasn’t done with Bela. But knowing Bela, he was done with her.

The front door shut and Bela hummed as he went into the kitchen for his own breakfast, despite it being well past noon. 

Routine, a return to normalcy.

Farin scribbled out a line of text in his notebook as Bela rummaged around for his breakfast. The opening and shutting of cabinets, the clang of dishes, cereal being poured into a bowl all faded into the background noise of everyday life. He was vaguely aware of it, but was more engrossed in his writing. 

There were more footsteps then, Bela making his way just past the threshold of the living room before stopping. Usually the steps would continue all the way to the couch, where Bela would flop down and ask him what he was doing. But not today.

Farin looked up to find Bela leaning against the wall, smirking even as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. 

“Morning,” He greeted slowly, unsure of exactly what Bela wanted. He set his pen down, giving him his full attention.

It was clear that he hadn’t showered yet. His long hair was more of a mess than usual, simultaneously flat and tangled with yesterday’s tease. His eyeliner was smudged down his face, and his eyes themselves were still red around the rims—whether from the drugs or the hangover, Farin couldn’t tell. He smelled like an ashtray barely disguised with a spritz of cologne, still wearing his clothes from the previous night. The only thing that had changed was where tight leather pants had once been, Batman briefs now were (not that he was staring).

He was a mess, yet Farin still felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of him. 

“Sleep well last night?” Bela finally asked, smug in the way a child with a secret was. Had he really come just to gloat?

“Fine, why?”

Bela took his time finishing his cereal instead of answering, drawing out suspense. He even took the time to drink the milk before setting the empty bowl on a nearby table to join an ever-growing stack of dirty dishes.

“It’s a two way street, my friend. You’re not as quiet as you think.” He explained, and Farin found himself sputtering out an excuse—it wasn’t what he thought, it was a coincidence—but Bela quickly stopped him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “If you’re interested, you only have to knock.”

He winked before leaving the room, and for the first time since they moved in the apartment was utterly silent. Not that Farin could hear it, over the pounding of his heart.


End file.
